Broken
by rinsled05
Summary: [Slight Victuuri] Yuuri knew his family loved him; there was never a doubt in his mind about that. But they had a hot spring inn to run, and, really, the last thing they needed was his fragile emotions pulling them away from more important things – far more important things. A story in which Yuuri's inner voices just refuse to go away. (One-shot & Bonus)
1. One-shot

**_Author's notes:_** _I relate very much to Yuuri. His anxiety, lack of confidence and absolute conviction that he's never good enough - all of that hits so close to home for me that I dearly love the portrayal of his character and growth on the show. In fact, it's in this very state of mind that this fic quite literally spewed out of me. With that said, I hope you enjoy this introspective piece on Yuuri's anxiety._

* * *

It started when Yuuri was 6 years old.

He was nervous on his first day of school, clutching desperately to his mother's hand as she tried to coax him into joining the other children in the classroom. There was so much noise: screaming, shouting, stamping of feet; Yuuri felt his mind almost fragmenting in an effort to process each and every piece of stimulation. He preferred the serenity of his bedroom, which he so wished he could return to bury himself under his covers and never come out again. When his mother left, he burst into tears then– loud, unabashed wailing –and it earned him his first ever nickname: "Crybaby Katsuki".

It was the last time Yuuri had cried in front of another.

Yuuri's first attack happened on the day he learned of his deteriorating eyesight. The world had stopped, his throat closing as voices in his head shrieked in time to the thrumming in his ears, his head, _breathe breathe why aren't you breathing help me I'm dying mom, mom – they're going to laugh at me they're all going to laugh – please –_

His sister had accompanied him to the eye doctor, and she wasn't at all prepared for it. Who would? And so she had shaken him, wide-eyed and terrified, yelling at him to stop scaring her, because it wasn't funny, and he was _really scaring her_.

They still laugh about it now and then.

"All that over a pair of glasses," Mari said. She exhaled a breath of cigarette smoke. "So dramatic."

"Now, Mari," his mother chided. "You know our Yuuri's a sensitive boy."

Yuuri knew his family loved him; there was never a doubt in his mind about that. But they had a hot spring inn to run, and, really, the last thing they needed was his fragile emotions pulling them away from more important things – far more important things.

He always suspected that was why they had introduced him to Minako, who was by then a frequent patron at their family restaurant. Something to keep his mind off school, they said, off the bullying and the awful things people said. Ballet helped, yes indeed; it kept him distracted as his family had suggested, channeled his inner pain into something more real every time Minako forced him into a stretch wider than his ligaments could bear. (Better his ligaments than his mind.) Minako-sensei herself was a force to be reckoned with: fierce, tough, with a sense of fleeting sadness that she chose to hide behind a mask of impatience and alcoholic binges. Yuuri once caught her gazing forlornly at a photograph of herself accepting a coveted prize for up and coming ballerinas. He never asked.

When Yuuri turned 13, he met Yuuko.

With Yuuko came love, tenderness, joy and excitement; with Yuuko came _acceptance_.

Not once did she comment about his round cheeks or his propensity for growing rotund over the winter; not once did she steal his glasses off his face and play _catch it if you can, wimp_. Instead, she marveled at his dance skills, his ability to pull his foot up into a standing vertical split. ("Child's play," Minako had scoffed.) She attended all of his dance recitals and clapped enthusiastically after every performance.

Yuuko smiled at him as if he had something to give to the world when he thought had nothing.

So when Yuuko told him about her ice skating lessons at Ice Castle Hasetsu, big eyes shining with hope, Yuuri gave up ballet without a second thought.

("Can't believe you ditched ballet," Minako had remarked at some point, pressing a wine bottle sullenly to her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replied, not knowing what else to say.)

And then there was Viktor Nikiforov.

Blasting into the ice skating world like a blizzard in May, something about the Russian star had struck him to his very core. Yuuko gushed unabashedly about his handsome looks, his sensuous performances, the fit of the beautiful costumes to his lithe, slender body, and yes, dear god yes, Yuuri admired every bit of it, perhaps more so than someone of his sex really should.

But there was something more.

Whatever it was, it gave Yuuri new drive and a sudden streak of impulsiveness. On a whim, he bought a poodle just like the one Viktor owned. On a whim, he read up on ice skating trials, competitions and coaches. On a whim, he sat for the S.A.T.s and sent out applications to American colleges. Something about Viktor fuelled him to train more, harder, so much that he was too exhausted to hear the doubting voices in his head. Even Minako started showing up at Ice Castle Hasetsu to watch him train, suddenly looking more sober than he had ever seen her.

With the later addition of Nishigori to their little group, and the way he looked at Yuuko when they weren't bickering over the flawlessness of Viktor Nikiforov– _of course she'd prefer him; he was funnier, stronger, so much better in every single way_ –

Yuuri simply pushed on with increasingly difficult techniques, taking comfort in the feel of cool ice against his skin whenever he messed up a jump.

The ice, he realized, silenced his voices.

The second attack hit when he arrived in the United States for the first time. It was at customs, waiting in a long, snaking line for his turn, that the voices returned. Idle hands are the devil's workshop. Around, within: they told him he had no right to be there; he was going to fail his first skating trial and all his college courses; his English wasn't even all that good anyway.

"You okay?" said the boy behind him.

"I need the ice," Yuuri blurted out, pupils dilating wildly.

"What?"

"I need to skate."

"Oh," said the boy, before he laid a calming hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "We don't have a rink here, but maybe we can do some kind of visualization. Try and imagine your skating routine for me?"

Yuuri stared at him.

"I bet it's beautiful," the boy said with an encouraging smile.

To this day, Yuuri remained grateful to whatever deity there was in heaven that had placed Phichit in that fateful spot. The Thai boy's bubbly, empathic nature invoked deep nostalgia in Yuuri: he was a constant reminder of Yuuko, that the world was not as scary as it seemed.

When Yuuri began training under Celestino, he had found the Italian coach to be, compared to Minako, extremely patient and kind. It was only in retrospect that Yuuri wondered if Celestino was perhaps a little too kind. In an effort to avoid triggering Yuuri's emotional vulnerabilities, Celestino had allowed him to persist in his belief that he had no talent; that what he lacked in talent, he made up for through sheer hard work. Constantly, he reminded Yuuri of his determination and tenacity; the boy got himself this far through hours of practice, he would declare to the media.

 _Even your own coach finds you worthless._

His third attack struck just before his final performance at the Grand Prix Final in Sochi, Russia, right after watching Viktor pull off yet another flawless routine.

That time, not even the ice could silence the voices.


	2. Bonus

_**Author's notes:**_ _For those of you who are as sappy as me and want their happy endings._

* * *

"Yuuri?" said Viktor. "Are you all right?"

Yuuri blinked slowly, before he turned his gaze from the passing scenery outside. "Yes, just thinking about… stuff."

Viktor frowned. "You're not acting like someone who just won the silver medal at the China Cup."

Yuuri's fingers rose up, unbidden, to tug at the medal resting on his chest, as if to check if it was really there. "Well I also had a near panic attack and thoroughly bewildered my very insensitive coach," he teased.

"Very insensitive," Viktor agreed quietly.

"And um…" Yuuri chewed on his lower lip. "I was thinking about how I hadn't cried in front of someone like that before." He paused, then amended, "Not in a long time anyway."

"Ah," said Viktor. He shot a quick glance at the cab driver, before he leaned over to brush his lips against Yuuri's ear. "Does that make me special, then?"

Yuuri shivered involuntarily. "I should be asking you that question after what you did at the kiss and cry."

Viktor chuckled and pulled back, much to Yuuri's disappointment. "Let us save that discussion for the hotel, shall we?"

"Fine," said Yuuri, giving him a mock pout.

Silence followed, before Viktor spoke again.

"Yuuri, I promise to do better. You deserve that and more."

Silently, Yuuri turned back to look out the window, lips curving.

He didn't need the ice to silence those voices anymore.


End file.
